Nothing Is Enough. Even
the Sky Is Unclear.

Can right words make the difference and, if so, what
shall we say? The day gives way to electric night,
the pastoral dies beside the human grove,

Urging our oxen toward the risen sun,
our stick plows stirring up the dust in waves,
also, in waves, we taste those words come back,

It was our favorite pastime, to be sure,
those hairs waiting to be split, those pieces
that passed understanding. We thought we'd find

Of course,all day long it’s Gilgamesh wants
this, Gilgamesh wants that, and we scatter
through the city, beating ploughshares into

The prince is waving good-bye. Good-bye Prince,
we shout as he ascends the steps of his coach,
Good-bye! Then he is gone with a contagion